"sceptic" poems
861
Split the Lark—and you’ll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.
Loose the Flood—you shall find it patent—
Gush after Gush, reserved for you—
Scarlet Experiment! Sceptic Thomas!
Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true?
3.8k
You have no chance to rewrite your story
There is no way to erase mistakes
You can eclipse your shame with glory
But your faults will always rise the stakes.
You can’t escape your past and reputation
They both will chase you to the day of doom
And your tears shed in lamentation
Will not dispel the reigning sceptic gloom.
Do things of which you’ll never be ashamed
Be kind. Be grateful, generous and honest
Mean deeds will hurt you first, getting you defamed
The noble ones will make of you the greatest.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
I remember the night my mother
was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.
Parting with his poison - flash
of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.
The peasants came like swarms of flies
and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.
With candles and with lanterns
throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the mud-baked walls
they searched for him: he was not found.
They clicked their tongues.
With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said.
May he sit still, they said
May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of all evil
balanced in this unreal world
against the sum of good
become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh
of desire, and your spirit of ambition,
they said, and they sat around
on the floor with my mother in the centre,
the peace of understanding on each face.
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,
more insects, and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through,
groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist,
trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
After twenty hours
it lost its sting.
My mother only said
Thank God the scorpion picked on me
And spared my children.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 7:29 AM UTC
•Don't you think you're standing too close
#But you did not oppose
•Cause your touch is so overwhelming
It numbs my brain
#So does your breath
Falling on my chest
•Maybe it's the lack of air inbetween
That's building this tension
#But this tension of our bond
Won't even let distance do us apart
•Who talks like that these days
#I'm witnessing one,
Between a boy and a girl of Laws
Stuck in the wonderland of Words
•That sounds more like the Never Never Land
#Don't let your sceptic shield come inbetween
Not tonight
•So that you can make me fall hard and deep
#So that I can kiss your wounds to heal
•But the soar soul will bring it back
How will you touch that
#Through that Venus trap you have for lips
•Your beard is no less of spikes
Growing goosebumps all over my skin
Running that chill across my spine
#It's good our interactive field **** our brains
At least for once our hearts can overtake
•I'm such a submissive to your strong gentle hold
#I'm so weakened at the sight of your rising-falling stole
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC
Meteoric Buick
Slick *****
Frantic frenetic
Majestic kick
Chick shtick
Shashlik
Nicotinic stick
Lick flick
Hermeneutic heretic
Magnetic rhetoric
Hick logic
Strategic
Plastic music
Tick click
Bucolic Bardic
Peptic druidic
Rustic emetic
Sceptic
Polymeric quirk
Sick trick
Turmeric trimeric
Septic *****
Wick crick
Derrick
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
..
Violation seeps in through every pore
The girl feels like a common *****
As men poke and **** with joy
Manipulating their new favourite toy
They sneak close enough to callously drool
Then further, breaking the cardinal rule
She feels an unwanted touch
Then begins to cry, deeming it too much.
..
With a purse brimming with cash
And a covered sceptic rash
The pretty woman walks casually
Sheltering any notion of tragedy
This was her first day of vacation
From her new laid back vocation
Though if a client was to approach
She wasn't beyond reproach
..
Horizontally gifted
An archway lifted
Customized displeasure
In any kind of weather
Morals slowly give way
To the luxury of good pay
Loneliness takes a back seat
To those with a thing for feet.
....
Stepped in late
A darkened slate
Crippled by fate
And a desire to be great
She felt like a clown
On her long way down
Then she lost her place uptown
To the notion of a gown
..
Poor girl
She had quite the whirl
Had five long years
Which left a few souvenirs
One being a harsh complexion
and the other being a hollow reflection
Now she has the rest of her life
To wallow in the footsteps of a wife
..
Soon her son would ask what she used to do?
The mother would reply, to who?
Ashamed she would pace
Trying to save face
Confused her son would leave
As the woman ran off to heave
Sick from the thought
That one day she would be caught
..
Sitting at lunch
A bully prods on a hunch
Displays an image
Of his mother's visage
A picture of an awkward pose
Featuring the woman in no clothes
Others began to taunt
As the poor boy went gaunt
....
Over the years some would knock on the door
In a meagre attempt to score
A run in with a *****
Who would take it on the floor
Of course they'd all be turned away
But the pain always seemed to stay
It was shown in the light of day
To be many needles in a sole piece of hay
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
MY FIRST & LAST LOVE LETTER
This I declare as my first & last love letter
Dedicated to the woman who looked at me and thought that I was better
In a sea of many men with fragile hearts and broken dreams
She chose to mend mine
In the process of putting the pieces together, she used herself as the glue & now
She is permanently a part of my new Picasso image of refined love.
A kind heart that lacks not a kind word in moments when emotions overflow
Poetry makes it easy for me to express these emotions
'Cause if I was an ordinary man I would have died in silence & left her seeking solace
Jesus would have to come back & perform all his miracles in order to reach out to her heart & resurrect my soul.
Enough about the riddle talk now let's go back to the love notes that make up this melody in my heart
The woman with a smile that brings out the life in my soul
She, the woman who invades my thoughts more than a germ invades a surface.
I find myself humming love tunes & writing love poems at the thought of you
Hoping to spend all my desired forevers with you
If only this was to be true
We all know that life has no guarantees
So I have prepared & cleaned up a small room for disappointment because of you
'Cause this love thing we have going seems too good to be true
Call me a sceptic but I've come to believe that your presence in my system is therapeutically septic
You have injected me with life but you still remain the potential cause of my fate
Explains why every time after I ****** in your presence at the dear end I end up in a faint
Totally disconnected from existence
A wonderfully dreadful experience
A once in a lifetime moment that resulted in me writing you this love poem
Which I have declared as the first & last love letter because I believe that you deserve better... (to be continued)
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
Is humanism Utopian?
You really have to think about it.
Or is it rather more dystopian?
No, then I think you’d never doubt it.
It seems that disbelief is best.
Humanism owes a debt
to thinkers of the Enlightenment,
although I haven’t paid it yet,
I think of it as my entitlement
to settle it at some behest.
I very early cleared my mind of Kant,
experiencing a vast relief,
approaching his chef d’oeuvres extant;
removing knowledge to allow belief;
the opposite of what he had expressed.
It occurred to me I ought to dig up
(or should I say instead ex-hume?)
what constitutes at least an egg-cup-
full of wisdom that I might consume
with non-platonic zest.
But wondering how on earth to do so
and thinking he might hold the key,
I fixed my sights on Jean Jacques Rousseau
and set sail for my destiny,
while trying not to feel depressed.
Voltaire’s voices loudly rang in deaf ears
as did the Persian Letters of Montesquieu
and failed to still my latent fears.
And thus I felt no need to rescue
Adam Smith (morality-obsessed).
To put Descartes before the Horse-
men of the Apocalypse
War, famine, pestilence and worse.
Who could guess it would eclipse
my thought, wherefore I was oppressed.
Or take the case of Denis Diderot
a friend of Hume and others seedier.
and one you might consider so
rash as to produce an encyclopedia
to get his knowledge off his chest.
That precious quality of truth
was Mary Ann’s# description of it.
It would not take a Sherlock sleuth
to simply thus produce a conviction of it:
an elementary request.
I cut my questing teeth on Russell.
His secular logic had a profound effect
and seemed to stir each red corpuscle
inhabiting this fervid non-sect-
arian but doubting breast.
I later turned my eye on Dawkins,
and his concern with my divine delusion.
A sceptic whose inspiring squawkings
validate my disillusion
and emphasise an ill-starred quest.
And so I felt the pointlessness of it.
Progress is the best end for a man to see
And belief simply produced less profit
for reality’s dispelling of my fantasy.
So, in the end, I acquiesced.
#Mary Ann Evans, aka George Eliot, in Adam Bede
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
with no maths for happy
i divided my ' why? '
by Zero
and fell in Love again
like a sceptic
with a wild falsehood
masquerading as
a plausible
X = " WHY ? "
but we know not.
better i should makes waves
in the cavernous
and strike wood
with earnest flint, and cheapskates
on golden ponds of ice
unfathomed, mostly
dark good
with sternest glimpse, for pete's sake
and i could go on, twice
as unaccounted, ghostly
numb soot
in the worm's mint sutures; an armour plate
of Unreal numbers.... kites
in the unfounded, frozen
in the floating point
of a Reason.
or I could call You.... hmmmmm..... ?
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
It was raining very torridly that day,
The cold was so frigid here in Karnal.
A pregnant lady was rushed to the hospital,
The Antichrist was born that evening.
Sceptic of old traditions the boy grew,
Not feeling the justification of religion.
Though I know about the good things in books,
But still I am that irreligious man now.
Always approving of the creator God,
That almighty remains unquestionable.
Not He Himself had dictated things to anybody,
I denounce the need for money in faith.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
When I hear you express an affection so warm,
Ne’er think, my belov’d, that I do not believe;
For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.
Yet still, this fond ***** regrets, while adoring,
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear,
That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring,
Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;
That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze,
When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.
Tis this, my belov’d, which spreads gloom o’er my features,
Though I ne’er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaim’d as the fate of his creatures,
In the death which one day will deprive you of me.
Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion,
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
He worships each look with such faithful devotion,
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.
But as death, my belov’d, soon or late shall o’ertake us,
And our ******* which alive with such sympathy glow,
Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in Earth’s ***** laid low.
Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure,
Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow;
Let us pass round the cup of Love’s bliss in full measure,
And quaff the contents as our nectar below.
1.7k
Margaret Murray, the one with the glasses.
The psychic, the mystic, her tarot card classes.
Told Sheila her mangoes were ready to eat.
Told Mary her cousin'd be back on his feet.
Beverley Spence was a sceptic, tough cookie.
In seeing her fortune snapped up by the ******
Decided to tell her her ulcer would heal.
It's better than sharing with friends what was real.
Patty was eager to hear from her mother.
Jessie bereft at the loss of her brother.
Beatrice needed the skills of a healer.
For Margaret saw death and she would not reveal her -
True destiny seen in the cards at the clubby.
Preventing a scene with her hard drinking hubby.
£20 fortunes, no refunds, no worries.
There's no better tarot than Margaret Murray's.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
It's a long journey all in all
Especially when you have to crawl
Under knots of trees
past the honey bees
Or just the job
of staying on that wooden road
When it's so fast to erode
And when we go into the marsh
We can't move our feet
Stuck in the mud
But still it makes us complete
Because
we still have the memories
And more friends than enemies
Especially as we run
And when it's begun
A good feeling
When we run through the forest
No, I am not a conformist
Just a soul living in the moment
Not a criminal
Not a sceptic or a poet
So let's relax
I will waste no more time
Worrying about that crime
It's really quite a silly thing
To do
And I know what I mean
Believe me
I know it may seem
Like a hopeless cause
Full of holes and flaws
But just remember
In the sea of happiness
The only drop of tear
Is the one that you yourself
Did Make appear.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
I know,in the world of hope and optimism
nobody is ready to accept the denial,
And You are not an exception dear lady.
But please take a sigh,let it go and
open your palm,stretch out your hand
and please try to understand that I
can not melt in your arms.
I am a Sceptic Sailor who gets afraid
of both land and storm as he got his moments
of bitterness from both these ends.
So,I appreciate your love you bestowed upon me,
but I cant rest upon your promised land,
I need to keep sailing and there's so much to see.
I hope one day you will understand this refusal
I hope one day you will appreciate this denial
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Too much time we've spent apart
it's like a splinter in my heart
festering and going septic
making my mind act like a sceptic
does she doesnt she I'm I wrong
if only I could bite my tongue
I know these voices love their lies
so why the tears wept from my eyes
spend time with me and let me snuggle
free my mind of this **** muggle
give me peace and say you love me
cause time apart is it's own insanity.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Now we both caught ourselves staring
I analyzed what you were wearing
My heart skipped a beat, the idea of love started preparing
I approached from the side, asked if you had a guy,
You replied with a "I'm just doing me" I took that as a lie
Cause no woman walks around hoping she doesn't get surprised, by a good guy...who could mend her broken heart with care over time.
A smile broke her defense, a kind gesture made her less tense.
two and a half months later and it's undoubted happiness
I wouldn't think any less, seems I finally found my princess,
Who would cure all my scars,
Unwind all my tangled stress
But I guess.. the sayings true
That a good thing is to good to actually be true,
Her false happiness became clear, figment love easier to see through
What happen? Use to the best thing I thought I never knew...
I started becoming a sceptic
My mind started thinking hectic
I should've seen all the signs when you finish fights with "forget this"
Cause that's what she was doing
Forgetting all the issues
I love you turned into silence, whatever's from I miss yous
The stars became detached
The shapes no longer matched
It is what it is, but do we both honestly believe that?
Love becomes a war
Affection into infection
I caught your negativity
Cured it, and learned a viral lesson.
**That you don't truly know a person until you both break up
Infatuated with ones beauty until they finally remove the make up.**
*Devil in disguise but your still an angel in my eyes
I don't consider it being naive
Some people just always have your heart, and never leave your mind.*
-Dougie simps
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
"Faith" is suffice for comfort
If the abyss encroaches on thee
But only the Surgeon prevails
Making blind eyes see
"Faith" deceives and says the pivot
Of the universe is the human race
When the crux of our existence
Is lost somewhere in outer space
"Faith" is impotent next to fact
When Reason is apace
But ignorance defends itself
For fear of losing face
"Faith" just means a belief
Held uncritical, unthinkingly
But I have become a sceptic
Oh Science, inform me
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
How cold and dark the chapel looked that day
from the narrow dirt track.
The overgrown graves adding to the gloom
no longer did anyone pray.
In this neglected forgotton medieval place
here a friend disappeared without trace.
This brought me to view this strange dwelling
a despair came over me that second.
That gut wrenching feeling consumed my being
standing afraid I started to yelling.
A spontaneous reaction that I could not stop
around were fields filled with natures crop.
Always the sceptic yet I felt I was not alone
a light breeze began to blow.
Why had I ventured to this solitary spot
had I seen from inside a glow?
Compulsion made me open the rusty gate
what had happened to my mate
A heavy atmosphere it was hard to breath
was that footsteps I heard?
Stopping to glance around nobody was there
two horse riders came passed waving.
Turning back I was at the solid wooden door
on it marks as if made by a claw!
Foreboding I wanted to get myself away
something stopped my urge for flight.
The answers I seeked must be inside I prayed
the summer light turned into night.
Dread within my soul was rising to it's height
and the outcome of my plight.
Pushing with hidden strength on the oak door
it swung open in the blackness I stared.
As my vision became more use to the dark
two red eyes looked back and glared.
A growling rasp echoed acoustically clear
something was gnawing far too near.
In my jacket pocket I had put a small torch
taking it out I turned on the beam.
There before me a wolf like creature stood
neither moved then it shot by.
Knowing this was the friend I'd been seeking
running out I saw the full moon peaking.
What I had seen was beyond my lifes beliefs
distant howls filled me with terror.
All I could do was just sit in the chapel
until the new dawn once more arose.
Never again did I see my life long friend
as now my life has drawn to an end.
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
On a night shift the underground worker
had to walk the tunnels.
Along the empty track in the pitch black
a torch his only guide.
And a radio to report if anything wrong
cautiously moving along.
It was just before one am he started to walk
down the ramp onto the line.
The only sounds his footsteps on the track
too nervous to look back.
Halfway along his route saw a flickering light
no work was planned that night!
Approaching saw a workman crouching down
busy on some unknown task.
Calling out to enquire what he was doing
the man stood and spoke.
He said hello called in for an urgent repair
made sense why he was there.
An hour later on his return he had gone
radioed to say all was well.
Mentioned the worker he saw in the tunnel
as on reflection thought it odd.
The radio operator told him others had to
as they had walked through!
You had seen the ghost the voice said with glee
possibly was hit by a train!
Some sixty years ago while doing some repairs
this came as a complete surprise.
Never experienced anything like this before
no longer a sceptic that's for sure!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
*Dear Father
Just because I am a girl doesn't mean I'm not human like you
I am and special, maybe more special than you
so first stop calling me names because I'm subject to my emotions
first work and buy me the necessities, the sanitary pads
before arguments about whether I smell during my periods spring
first change the system,that which promotes my rights bring
first abandon alcohol for it's the reason for the violence and fights
first realise that I am my own person with my own dreams
for we all can't be doctors, we all can't be engineers,
we all can't flow with the streams
first realise I hope to be first female President of this pearl
first recognise that time and again my hair may need a little curl
first remind my Aunt to give me the *** education
after all educating me is educating a nation
first treat mother like a human and not a slave
first think like a man and act like a woman rather than a tsunami wave
first mind about how I'm relating with my school teacher
because now is the bridge that leads to my long awaited future
first help sort out the political climate, it is too hot
Help the country be what it should be instead of expecting me to be who I'm not
first tell the insurgents and the government to put down arms
for it seems they cannot see how terribly this war thing harms
they can't see I'm ***** and bearing sceptic wounds which may never scar
first tell the fat belly friend of yours that
when I'm through with my studies I'll afford my own car
first urge the concerned to put up good schools near
so that I won't have to ride this far in the dark filled with fear
first engage in advising my school to provide us with meals
it will mean you finally understand that hunger kills
first work your fingers to the bone, don't leave it for mother alone
to provide the privilege of waking to comfortable beddings at dawn
first start believing in me as you believe in my brothers
rather than wallow in the mistakes of the forefathers
first understand me before you start pointing fingers
first get me a treated mosquito net and shoes to escape the jiggers
first do your part and I promise I will do mine
first be a father & friend then, I know everything will be fine*
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
*Can't function, I.... I Can taste the passion in her sweat. Light kisses. Confusion...I can taste the venom in her lipgloss, I feel the hesitation in her heart with every breath.
She takes over control, not allowing my hands to explore her land
Telling me to keep my eyes closed...placing her soul in my hand*
**Blood pressure rises, rises like the pain of a fever
As she diggs her nails into my skin, as she makes a sceptic out of a believer.
Eyes closed so I can't read her.
Was this all planned? Was I drugged with honesty? Am I just another victim, the captivation of a queen sized cell, holdin a lying man?
my ink absorbs in her body, passionate writings forming on the wall. The sunrise, with goodbyes and kisses. The moment you know she'll never call.**
*** was her weapon...small cuts from her seduction, as I attempt to break from these lust chains...Drained from toxic pleasure, infected, deceasing slow.. from a woman's lustful rage.*
$.€.X||
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Half Batman half Robin,
Houston we have a problem,
and you don’t want no problem with me,
I’m off balanced and on one,
at the head of the table,
Delilah’s on a Sunday,
not willing but I am able,
I guess we’ve all gotta go one day,
but that day is not today,
or tonight got two lights,
one for the occasional cigarette,
and one that’s a Brunette that burns bright,
feeling cliche as fck but that’s okay because you know what,
we are at the top of the pyramid so it only makes sense we’re high,
hi I’m high,
how are you,
haven’t seen you in awhile might’ve been forever till now,
then you appear like a ghost at a haunting and say “Boo!”,
ooh,
the things you do your new name’s Obsession,
it’s ironic that you asked me to have a staring contest,
since I’d confessed that I was already staring,
had my eye on you as soon as you entered the room,
I was perched in my throne at the head of the table,
but I was thrown when you waltzed in like a Godsend,
my God you’re the stuff of fairytales and fables,
the only one I wanted to talk to,
to in that whole venue,
and we’re talking Delilah’s not a dive bar,
so you know there were some quality options from which to choose,
but we both knew it was a rap,
as soon as you read the poem I’d wrote on that napkin,
and yeah this is Hollywood,
so yeah sometimes that kind of magic still happens,
you gave me your number in front of your boyfriend,
and didn’t even care so I didn’t either,
because we’re True Lovers,
we’re The Proof that can turn any sceptic into a True Believer,
a combination of all things yet still totally unique,
and yeah we’ve got our issues but hey we’ve all got our problems,
so we come together like two phones tethered or better yet bare feet on a beach,
and then we get ghost and disappear outta the reach of their nonsense,
peace!
∆ Aaron LaLux ∆
October 8th, 2018
Hollywood, CA.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:44 AM UTC
To be kissed by your lips,
Every day and night
As I open my eyes
And as I fall asleep;
Is something I crave.
To lay in your arms,
On bright sunny days,
And even the stormiest of nights;
Is something I dream of.
But as sceptic as I am,
I truly believe;
That one of these days,
You'll belong to me.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
Under the celestial heavens,
The sceptic, is so small, slight—
In a dull room, filled with gloss, vacant,
Unbelievers, hayseeds, who unbeknownst
To themselves, are all in an incestuous love cult,
A construct so vain, vacuous, of spineless comfort
And smarmy snugness, a tribe of loose, yawning tripe,
A spew of runny phlegms, a scheme of useless blue things,
Festering. What rational and clear clods, of beheadedness,
Cluelessness, in clefts of lobotomy, plain and clearly sightless,
Without seeing, they proclaim, all that their dull drivels, the dear
Elders had once spoon fed to them, preached, said— now, how,
They are sad, righteous and solemn in their preordained, oldness,
Incongruous, indifferences and prejudices. To have completely lost
Any warm, decent, actual feelings for emotion is foreign— the stars,
Do not align, the waters will not part, yet they are blind to the lies
In themselves. To have experienced— any real, beating, ******
Thing is beside the point, is beyond their ken, is not knowable,
Yet, kowtow-able, quantifiable, not actual, but unbelievable
They—the smug, slugs, under rugs, are dead, as dust,
Under celestial skies, deep, darkness inside . . .
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
*Down off a cliff
The precipice of life
A sceptic fall, where aspirations cannot survive
Sunken emotions, lethal feelings skin deep
As two streams overflow, the corners of farewell
No goodbyes as this day, holds the promise of return
To the times now long gone
An old home built of sand
New foundation found in rocks, under rivrrs of despair
Cherish only dreams, in a fog of oneself
Wake to the truth, as the bottom is in sight
To escape the dark end, is a wonder to be felt
To jump and not slip, our own will to renew
As the flames within passion
Spread ashes in the path
That leads to an ocean
Filled with hope and with courage*
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 8:46 AM UTC